


When All of New York City Misses You

by Chash



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Established Relationship, F/M, Long-Distance Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-07
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-19 13:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4748903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chash/pseuds/Chash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clarke and Bellamy have been dating for a year when Bellamy goes to Oxford.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When All of New York City Misses You

**Author's Note:**

> An anon on Tumblr asked me for a long-distance AU for these two, so here we go! I was going to put it with my other Tumblr prompts but I was writing on the plane and Magnetic Fields came on and I really wanted to give it a Magnetic Fields title because I love this song, so there you have it. A look into the creative process.

The first thing she does is steal his phone and start downloading apps.

"You know I'm right here, right?" Bellamy asks, sounding amused. He's smiling the same fond smile he's had for her since he got the news, an expression that says he thinks their relationship now has an expiration date, and he's going to savor it while it lasts. Clarke isn't going to murder him, but she is going to prove him wrong. "And you know I'm never going to use Instagram."

"We're going to be in different time zones, so you can't just text me pictures. You don't want to wake me up in the middle of the night, do you?"

"I can email you. Why do I need Instagram _and_ Snapchat?"

"You just said you were never going to use Instagram, so I'm giving you options. You can Snapchat. Or--we already have FaceTime. And Skype's on your computer."

"Email," he reminds her. He sighs and leans his head against hers. "One year. That's longer than we've been dating."

"We've been friends for five years."

He snorts. "We have not. You hated me the first year. You said I was a fucking asshole like fifteen times a week."

"Like you didn't hate me."

"Only for a month. You were too cool to hate." He sighs again. "Maybe we should, I don't know. Not break up, just--a year is a long time. You could meet someone."

"So could you." She gives him back his phone and wraps her arms around him, firm and unyielding. "If you meet someone, break up with me. We're not doing some weird, preemptive non-fidelity agreement because you think you can't ask me to wait for you to finish your degree. In fucking _Oxford_. That's awesome, Bell. You're going to do great. And if you fall in love with England and don't want to come back--"

"When I applied, I thought I didn't have a chance with you," he says, rueful. "If I'd known you'd be willing to date me--"

"You would have still applied. Because I would have threatened to murder you if you didn't."

"You already did that. Even though we weren't dating. You know, I think you might have some anger-management issues."

"Shut up," she says, and tucks herself closer to him. "It's just a year. I'll be here when you get home."

"Yeah," he says, but it doesn't sound like her really believes it.

*

Clarke and Bellamy met when she was a freshman and he was a senior. He was taking computer science to fulfill his requirement for a science/math credit, and she was planning to double major in comp sci and biology. He'd been seated next to her and copied her code shamelessly, assuming he was just so pretty and charming she'd swoon over his cheating. He took the second semester of comp sci just to piss her off--and, he later admitted, to have an excuse to keep talking to her--and he started his art history PhD the next year, which was how they became friendly, because he was her TA, and it turned out he was a great teacher and easy to talk to, in his office hours. Which had been a total surprise, given what she knew about him from their actual classes together. And then Octavia showed up in the dorm where Clarke was the RA the next year, and friendship was swift and inevitable.

He didn't ask her out until after she'd graduated, but she kissed him before he finished the question, so he admitted he maybe should have done it sooner.

It's not like any other relationship she's been in; Raven says it's because they were basically dating for like two years before Bellamy made his move, but Clarke doesn't think that's it, or not all of it. She thinks, honestly, that it's because they've just always had each other's numbers, right from the beginning.

*

"So, are you going to wither and die?" Raven asks.

"We're all withering and dying all the time," Clarke says, not looking up from her computer. Her code isn't working, and she has no idea why. "That's how it works."

"I meant without Bellamy, but sure, let's talk about the inevitability of death. That's cool too."

"It's just a year. We'll talk. I assume Skype sex is a thing."

"I'm just saying, long distance is hard. You remember how well it worked out for me and Finn."

Clarke snorts. "I'm not really worried Bellamy's going to decide to get a new girlfriend without breaking up with me because he just couldn't decide between us."

"No, but--if I was around it never would have happened."

"And you would be way less happy," Clarke points out. "Engaged or married to a guy who wasn't really sure about you, no me in your life--"

She laughs. "I know, just--it's gonna be tough. And I'm here for you."

"I know. Thanks." And then, because Raven is being honest and supportive, she adds, "I'm going to miss him."

"Yeah."

*

Bellamy signs up for Instagram and Snapchat and Skype and Twitter.

"This doesn't mean I'm going to remember to use them," he tells her, and she kisses him.

He's leaving on July 1, so they at least get to celebrate their first anniversary.

"We'll miss the second, if we have it," he says, and Clarke smacks him lightly on the back of the head.

"Stop thinking you like me better than I like you, dick."

He laughs. "You know, I never call you dick, so that might be one reason I think that."

"You should, I deserve it." She hugs him, just this side of too tight. He doesn't seem to mind. "You know I love you."

"I do know," he says. "This is a fucking awesome opportunity, I just--I'll miss you, okay?"

"I got that, yeah."

"And I don't want to lose you."

"Snapchat is forever, Bell."

He snorts. "What if all I do is eat and work and when I get back I'm pale and fat and weird?"

"I'll already know. From Snapchat. I'll be prepared."

He laughs. "So, happy first anniversary."

"This means we'll have been dating for longer than we'll be apart. Just saying."

"So we're definitely going to make it, right?"

She squeezes his hand. "Right."

*

Clarke emails Bellamy her first update before his plane has even landed, because she _knows_ Bellamy. He's a fucking dumbass, and even though he's the one who left, he will not send the first email. He will stress himself to death wondering if it's too soon or too pushy or too--she doesn't even know. Too everything.

His response, when it comes, is just, _Landed safely, getting car, love you._ But her email does its job, because he sends her updates for the rest of the day, Snapchats of his car and his new place and the bed he wishes she was in. Clarke responds with pictures of the cat and the code she's working on and the coffee she got from Octavia, with the name filled out as _don't mope!!!_

It's not like that every day. Some days, nothing _happens_ , and it's hard to feel like there's any reason to email or FaceTime him. When they're together, there doesn't need to be anything, there's nothing to justify. Communication feels more important now, every interaction has this odd weight, like it has some hidden profundity. Every message feels like a reflection on their whole relationship.

Then, two months in, Clarke sees a dog with wheels instead of hind legs, and the wheels are painted like a Roman chariot, and she sends him the picture without even thinking about it, without any additional message or context. Just like she would if he were home. And just like that, it's easier. This is _Bellamy_. He's still her best friend and confidant, the person she's planning to marry. It's not the same, but it's not some totally foreign new ground.

It's the two of them, separated by an ocean, but still Clarke and Bellamy.

They set up a Netflix night (Saturday, a little earlier than she'd like and a little later than he would) and start watching things together. They make plans for her to come visit for Christmas. She tries not to be jealous when he talks about female colleagues he gets along with and thinks too much about how much she's talking about new friends.

She tells him when Lexa, who works at the gallery, kisses her after an event.

"And?" he asks.

"And I told her I'm taken," she says, shrugging. "She's cool, but she's not you." She rolls her eyes at him. "You didn't seriously think this was a breakup call, did you?"

"No way. You'd do that via Snapchat. Like a real adult."

She laughs. "Entirely in emojis."

"Exactly." He runs his hand through his hair, and Clarke's fingers twitch. "It sucks your coworkers can kiss you and I can't."

"My coworkers can't kiss me either. One-time thing. We've now established that's not cool."

"But they could."

"Yeah." She offers him a crooked smile. "One month to Christmas. You can kiss me at Christmas."

He lets out a shaky breath. "God, I can't wait."

"I miss you too, Bell. She's a better kisser than you are, but--"

"Fuck you, Griffin," he says, laughing.

"Again, Christmas," she says, and grins at the heat that sparks in his eyes.

"Christmas," he agrees.

*

"I can come," he says. "Just say the word."

Clarke rubs her face. She's glad, broadly, that her dad had the stroke before she left for Oxford; it would have been even more expensive and awful to get a flight back home from there. But her dad's in the hospital and Bellamy isn't here. Can't be here.

"You can't afford it."

"I'll afford it."

She sags against the wall. "You shouldn't. If it's--if it gets really bad, I'll talk to my mom. She'll fly you in."

"Clarke," he says, and she can't read his voice.

"You know I'd be doing the same thing if you were in the States," she says, weary.

"If I were in the States, it wouldn't have been six months since I'd seen you." He lets out a harsh breath. "Shit. That sounded--I just want to be there for you, okay? It's not about just--"

"I know," she says. She closes her eyes. "Honestly, this--it's really good to hear your voice. That's enough. And it won't put you in crippling debt."

"Yeah," he says. "How's he doing?"

"No change. They're not sure what the long-term consequences are going to be."

"You want me to talk about my research?"

"I really do."

She falls asleep listening to him talk, and when she wakes up her father is doing better, so she calls him back.

"I'm glad I don't have to come out, but--" he says, and Clarke bites her lip.

"I know what you mean. Maybe spring break?"

"Yeah."

*

Clarke's father's recovery is slow as he gets the use of his body back, and it eats a lot of her time off and most of her spare cash, because as much as she wants to see Bellamy, her father needs her more. It helps him, having her around. She can tell Bellamy is barely stopping himself from flying to visit her most times when they talk, although she hasn't actually told him he can't. He just doesn't have the time, or the money, and she knows he hates it. It all sucks, but this is how it is. There's nothing either of them can do to change it.

They Skype a lot, and FaceTime, and email pretty much constantly. She makes him talk about his thesis and his research, because he does love this stuff, and it's still a great job. He still likes it, and she doesn't want him to feel guilty about it. And it does help. His voice is still the most comforting sound in the entire world.

Then her father has another stroke.

She's half-asleep in the hospital waiting room when Bellamy sits down next to her with coffee, and it takes her a second to realize he's not a dream or a hallucination.

"Your mom paid for my ticket, if it makes you feel better," he says, with a tired smile, and Clarke throws her arms around him. He manages to get the coffees somewhere safe and then tugs her in, holding her as close as he possibly can. "I'm so sorry about your dad, Clarke."

"He's not--he's stable, they're just still observing him." She buries her face against his neck and breathes in, letting the feeling of him sink into her. "But two strokes close together like this--he's probably never going to be the same."

"This has been such a shitty few months, I should have been here."

"You were," she says. "Just because you weren't--"

He laughs softly and kisses her hair. "I know I was. But I couldn't do this."

"This is pretty good," she admits, and pulls away enough to look at him. She's been seeing him regularly, but not all of him. He's thinner, and he hasn't shaved in a while; he probably came here right from the airport. His hair is going shaggy. "Hi," she says, because it's too much. It's too overwhelming to say anything else.

He leans down and presses his lips against hers, just a small comfort of a kiss. "Hi," he says. "I can't stay long, but--"

"That's okay," she says, and holds on tighter. "This is enough."

*

He's gone two days later, once Clarke's dad is out of the hospital, and it's back to being hard. He's only gone for four more months, but Clarke wonders if it would have been better to just not see him at all, because just the quick glimpse of him was almost worse than nothing. 

Except he was there, holding her hand while they waited for news, bringing her food, letting her lean against him. And she can't bring herself to wish he wasn't.

"So, here's an awkward question," he says, two months before he gets back. He looks better, she thinks, and that's important too. It was killing him, not being there for her. Now it's not. That's good. At least it's only worse for her.

"My favorite kind," she teases.

"I don't have anywhere to live when I get back."

"Slightly awkward, not a question."

"The question is more a conversation," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. He's always a little twitchy on webcam, but this is a lot even for him. "Octavia thought I should at least mention cohabitation before I picked out a place of my own. I, uh--I know it's kind of soon, I'm not going to be offended if you don't want to. She just thought it was worth talking about, and she's probably right."

Clarke has to smile. "So, you want to," she says. Bellamy's not always great at getting to the point. Especially when the point has to do with their relationship.

"I think it's worth talking about," he says, shrugging. He ducks off screen to grab his tea, and Clarke actually laughs. "What?" he asks, glaring.

"So talk about it!"

"I thought you'd just tell me it was a bad idea and the conversation would be over," he says.

"I don't think it's a bad idea. I think we should talk about it."

He wets his lips. Clarke really, really wants to bite them. His visit really wasn't the right time for anything more than cuddling and a little making out, both of them exhausted and worried and either in the hospital or asleep most of the time. She didn't mind at the time, not exactly, but Skype sex is really not a replacement for _him_.

"I know this last year has been weird," Bellamy says, pulling her back from less relevant thoughts. "But--I think we're still actually doing pretty well?"

"We are," she assures him.

"And it's fucking _sucked_ ," he admits, in a rush. "Not--it's awesome, I'm having an amazing time, I love it here, but I want to fucking come home to you every night. I'm pretty sure as soon as I'm just going to--"

Clarke bites back her own smile, but it's too much to contain. "Yeah," she says. "You should move in with me."

*

They celebrate their anniversary on Skype; Clarke wanted to go and see him, but she's used way too much vacation time. She's been to England before, but she hates not being able to see it with him there. She wants him to show her his favorite places, show her all the old books he's been geeking out over in the Bodleian, check out the weird museum he likes. She wants to have been a tangible part of his life in Oxford, not just the girlfriend he was missing.

But he'll be home this time next month. So that's something.

"I did get you something," he says. "For an anniversary present."

"I did too. Did it not get there?"

He grins and holds up his wrist to show off the watch. His watch was a piece of shit. "Yes, it got here. That's what I was mentioning it, I didn't want you to think I was just--not getting you anything."

"I wasn't worried."

"Yeah, well, just assume I'm shitty at figuring out shipping dates."

"Bell," she says, gentle. "You're coming home in three weeks. That's all you need to do for me."

He ducks his head, grins like he might never stop. "Three weeks."

*

Clarke is spending the weekend before Bellamy gets home cleaning everything in her apartment, much to the disgust of the cat. There is way too much vacuuming and upheaval for her tastes. She is standing on the kitchen counter, periodically yowling, like she wants to make sure Clarke won't forget she's pissed, when Bellamy says, "Yeah, that sounds about right."

Clarke whirls to stare at him; he's got two bags and looks completely exhausted, but there's a grin lighting up his whole face.

"Anniversary present," he says. "Like I said, I suck at--"

She launches herself into his arms before he can finish, and one of his bags falls over as he catches her. "You fucking dick, I was going to have it all clean for you."

"I really don't care," he says, burying his face against her neck. "Hi."

"Hi," she says, trying to blink back tears and not doing very well at it. "Welcome home."


End file.
